


Symbiosis

by orphan_account



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: A shadow in the corner of your eye, But is resurected again, CECIL IS OKAY. OKAY? WE COOL., Cecil dies again, Cecil's corpse, Episode: e059 Antiques, M/M, Mirrors, Something's fishy, episode 61
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil has chunks of memory missing. What really happened the night the antiques escaped? Only one shadowy being really knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symbiosis

Ugh, he got himself killed. Again.

 

It’s times like this where the Voice thinks that it should have chosen a better host. This host, a fine man by the name of Cecil, was much more compliant in the beginning. Always on time for broadcast, well mannered; if not a bit bored with the monotony of his life. A faithful companion, once. Now, something’s gotten into him, and that something has made the idiot run off and try to save the day every time one of his interns, or friends, or hell, his cat is in danger. More often than not, this got Cecil killed.

 

The Voice crawled out of his (once) host again for the umpteenth time. It travels from its residence in the vocal cords, to the throat, and finally, crawls out of his host’s mouth and onto the ground with a resounding plop. If Cecil were alive, this is when he would see the shadows flickering in the corner of his eye.

 

Sometimes, the body looked peaceful. Usually, Cecil died from simple things, such as poison, or dehydration in the desert. Once, his death was due to the Glow Cloud raining upon him the corpse of an elk. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance then. This Cecil had no such peaceful death. As he was bitten by an antique, a sizable portion of his leg was gone, probably eaten. His corpse had outstretched arms on the ground, which looked like they had been through a taffy stretcher. From his arms protruded hundreds of feathers, a bright blue sheen in color. His face was blank and his eyes were closed, as if he was asleep. Cecil was partially transformed into an antique when he had died.

 

This was going to take a LOT of cleanup.

 

The Voice began to drag Cecil across the floor. Usually a shadowy being cannot drag a fully grown man anywhere, but the Voice expels some reserved energy it has gained from feeding off of the very lovely Cecil during broadcasts. Because the Host dies every other month or so, an unprecedented amount of this backup energy has vanished to catering for the Host. This leaves the shadowy Voice more tired and hungry than before, but hey, starving is better than dead. This rings true to The Host as well, so the Voice drags a dead Cecil into the radio station’s bathroom mirror, and into a shadowy dimension, where the fixing can begin.

 

Every mirror to the Voice serves as a portal to a dark realm, an endless wasteland of void and sand. Many of the creatures that reside here are lost souls, stuck between planes of existence eternally. It is, for lack of a better term, “home”. And, as far as the Voice is concerned, it is Cecil’s home too. In Night Vale, the Voice is weak and needs a vessel. In this dimension, The Voice has limitless powers.

 

The Voice begins by stripping the feathers from Cecil’s arms much akin to plucking a turkey. These feathers could be useful later, but for now, The Voice has more important matters to tend to. Half of a leg is missing, so the Voice replaces it. Some brain cells are dead from a lack of oxygen, so The Voice reanimates them. The shadowy figure is careful in unstretching Cecil’s arms back to their normal length. Thankfully, most of the body is here this time, so no major reconstructions have to be done. The Voice has a hard time remembering what Cecil looks like, so a major fix ends up with a lot of improvising to be done. The Voice ends his examination by rewriting memories of the antique event-- his host does not need to recollect his idiocy-- and restarting his heart. At once more, there is a pulse, and The Voice is pleased. With one swoop, The shadowy Voice drags his alive but unconscious host through the mirror from where they came. In the staff bathroom, The Voice enters Cecil the same way it exits: into the mouth and down the throat, then into the vocal cords. This is the Voice’s second home, a home that feeds it and takes care of it. If everything goes to plan, Cecil will wake up and explain that he did not become an antique. Instead, his intern became one. And it always goes to plan. The Voice makes sure of that.

 

Cecil slowly comes to on the bathroom floor. His pristine “Radio clothes” are filthy. Everything is in extreme pain. But he’s alive.

 

* * *

 

Cecil just simply can’t remember.

 

He’s normally good about remembering things. He can remember where he put his keys. He can remember that Old Woman Josie’s birthday is coming up next week. So, why can’t he remember saving Dana?

 

There’s been increasing gaps in his memory lately; where he’s unable to recall anything, and his book that writes his thoughts down for him shows blank pages. Cecil’s been questioning his physical appearance, too. Was his hair and skin really those colors before? Are those tattoos the same? He’s going insane.

 

He calls up Carlos about this phenomenon during a sleepless, brain rattled night. And while Carlos doesn't sound too certain about the memory loss himself, he insures Cecil that nothing has changed. That everything is stagnant and Cecil’s too stressed out by work. Well, most everything is the same anyway; most of Cecil’s traits and habits have changed. Cecil asks him,

“How? How have I changed?”, and Carlos replies, “You’re a bit sweeter than you were before. More emotive than ever. You care more. And, you're much more brave. I wish you could see yourself, and how you’ve changed.”.

 

This gives Cecil an idea. He thanks Carlos for his time, hangs up the phone, and slides out of bed. Still in his pajamas, Cecil hops into his trusty car, some old nameless two door that’s seen better days. The sky at this time of night is dark, too dark for any stars to be seen. There isn’t even a moon up right now. Cecil pulls into the radio station driveway, and unlocks the front door. Without even turning the lights on, he heads for the station bathroom--the only place he knows where there is a mirror.

 

The mirror is covered in a flimsy sheet. Cecil inhales, exales, and rips it off.

And at once, his world plunges into darkness.

 

Cecil learns very quickly that he cannot scream. In fact, he can’t speak or make any noises at all. This would be fine and dandy, but his surroundings have changed from a dark bathroom to a darker desert, sprawling in all directions. There’s a shadowy flicker in the corner of his eye; the same flicker that he supposedly saw as a teenager. The shadowy flicker grows and grows, and within a minute, Cecil is blinded from the shadows.

 

Unable to speak, and unable to see, Cecil curls up onto the sandy ground. What has he gotten himself into this time?  
  
 **You are not supposed to be here.**

 

It was his own voice, being used against him. It echoed through his bones. Because he couldn’t reply normally, he thought out his response instead, in hopes that whatever was using his voice could reply.  
  
 _I kind of figured that. Who are you?_

 

 **We need to get you home.** His own voice sounded cold and calculating, like some of his early shows. Whatever was speaking, was using his voice wrong. Cecil did not like that.

_I want answers first. Everything’s gone screwy lately. I bet it has something to do with you. Who are you? What are you?_

**I am The Voice.**

 

Cecil now closed his eyes, as they were useless to him anyway. He frowned.

 

_That’s silly, because I am The Voice of Night Vale. Are you me? I don’t think you are._

 

**No. You are not The Voice. I am The Voice. You are the host. You are the Child of the Void. You are Cecil.**

 

_Okay. So I’m the host. Like, the Host of a radio show? Or something more nefarious…_

 

**You speak to the people, with charm and grace, and I feed off of the aura and energy you give.**

 

_Ah, so, host in the “I’m a parasite sense”. got it._

 

**Our relationship is symbiotic.**

 

_The term “Host” is strictly used for parasite relations._

 

**However, whenever you die, I repair you so you can continue to feed me. This is a symbiosis.**

 

_Wait, I died?_

 

**Yes. You have died 18 times. I have revived you 18 times.**

 

_Wow. How long have you been my symbiote?_

 

**We have served each other since you were 15. You are a good host. You are reckless and emotional, but you feed better than any other host.**

_Wow. Things are starting to make a lot of sense now. Why are there so many gaps in my memory?_

 

**Those are things you needn’t remember.**

_Am…. am I going to remember this conversation?_

 

Cecil’s disembodied voice paused.

 

**...No. It is dangerous here. I am going to take you back to your town now.**

 

_...Okay. Thank you for answering my questions, "Voice", even if I won’t remember this conversation._

 

Cecil began to get drowsy. Within a minute, he was out cold, snoozing in the sand he sat in.

 

In the morning, he woke with a killer sore throat, and no recollection of the events taken place the night before. Just another gap in his memory, and some drool on the side of his mouth.


End file.
